Be Prepared
by MizJoely
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is a man on a mission - a mission to discover what Molly enjoys in a romantic partner - and John Watson is his reluctant wingman. Sherlolly and Warstan, mostly Sherlolly.
1. Preparation

**Written in conjunction with the lovely and talented asteraceaeblue and based on this segment of Elle Magazine's recent interview with Benedict Cumberbatch regarding Sherlock and sex:**

**_ELLE UK_**_: What do you think Sherlock would be like in bed? How would you play a love scene as Sherlock?_

**_BC_**_: Oooh… You know I'd get the, I'd probably test the latex, if it involved prophylactics, beforehand._

**_BC_**_: I'd do a little experiment to do with durability, length, girth, and um, strength. And um, I would probably take a lot of vitamin supplements to make sure that I could perform, and had had my sleep, and probably not had many cigarettes. Or drink, for that matter. Not that he does drink._

**_ELLE UK_**_: You see. Proficient, but lacking enthusiasm._

**_BC_**_: Yeah, no wait for it. I would probably watch a lot of porn…_

**_BC_**_: I might have to shave, um, areas to fit in with a modern idea of bodily hair._

**_BC_**_: And then I would be devastating. I'd know exactly how to please a woman, I'd know exactly where to put my fingers, where to put my tongue, where to put my – his I should say – his fingers, his tongue. Think about violinists, think about what they can do with their fingers._

**_BC_**_: And I'd know exactly how to get that person into it, and get pleasure out of making that person feel pleasure to the point that I probably wouldn't even have to enter…_

**_BC_**_: But when I did it would be explosive._

**_ELLE UK_**_: But does he ever lose control?_

**_BC_**_: So in sex, would he lose control? I think to have really good sex he would probably have to._

**_ELLE UK_**_: So he'd decide to lose control. He'd make a controlled decision?_

**_BC_**_: This is a very dark alley we're going down. No pun intended. Um, Yeah. Yeah. If it was necessary yes, yes. Very much so._

* * *

><p>It started out innocently enough; Molly wore a short, summery skirt made of some lightweight, gauzy fabric to work, with a sleeveless yellow blouse over it, and her white lab coat over the entire outfit. She had her hair parted on the side and worn in a loose braid over her right shoulder, with just the right amount of soft pink lipstick on her mouth as she smiled a greeting to Sherlock and took a seat beside him, at the adjoining microscope. He was studying some soil samples for a case, a four at best but better than the boredom of sitting around his flat, while she chattered on about her cat or her friend Meena, one or the other, and it was as if the proverbial bolt of lightning struck.<p>

Molly. He and Molly. He'd been an idiot, spending all those years pushing her away, believing himself to be better off alone. John's friendship had shown him the error of that way of thinking, Moriarty had entered their lives and opened Sherlock's eyes to Molly's importance even as she told him she didn't matter, that she didn't count…Why had it taken him so long to realize it wasn't just that she mattered, that there was so much more?

Oh, he knew why, and had already noted the main reason: he'd been an idiot. But now…The Moriarty imposter had been dealt with, Sherlock's killing of Magnussen had been pardoned, Mary and John's baby girl had been born (not without some ridiculous drama), there were no inconvenient fiancés or fake girlfriends lurking about, and Sherlock's brain went into a veritable frenzy of deduction.

They were compatible in so many ways, but it was more than that. He hadn't allowed himself to think of Molly as a sexual creature – or himself, for that matter, not for fifteen long years with the sole exception of that unexpectedly carnal night in Karachi four years ago – but now that he was, it was _all_ he could think about. He stared at her, no longer hearing her voice, simply cataloguing all the snippets and facts about her that he'd unconsciously retained. There were so many possibilities, so many avenues to explore with her and potential for stimulation, both mental and physical. His mind whirled with ideas, and he lost all sense of time as he watched the way her lips moved to form her words, her hands moving so elegantly about the equipment, occasionally reaching up to swipe a strand of hair away from her face. Oh yes, the potential for what could exist between them was immense, and now he knew what had to be done.

He rose abruptly to his feet and exited the lab, not noticing Molly's confused stare, too intent on all the plans that had to be set into motion in order for their first sexual encounter to be as close to perfect for the two of them as he could make it.

Research. It was going to take a great deal of research, some on the internet and some no doubt by consulting the one real expert he knew when it came to relations with the opposite sex.

An hour later he was ringing John and Mary's doorbell, fingers tapping impatiently on his thigh and gasping for a smoke. No, no cigarettes, Molly hated the smell, he was just going to have to slap on a few more patches later.

The door opened just as he was about to press the doorbell again, and he smiled at his best friend's puzzled face. "Sherlock? What's up? Got a case?"

"Of sorts," he replied, breezing past John in order to greet Mary and Ellie. His goddaughter was two months old and finally beginning to take an interest in more than sleeping, eating and, presumably, pooping, an activity of hers that he actively avoided having anything to do with. "I need your expertise, John, as I'm about to start a sexual relationship with Molly Hooper. How are you today, Ellie?" he added, not stopping to take a breath while John choked behind him and Mary stared at him wide-eyed. He held out his hands and she allowed him to take the baby, who was cooing and waving her tiny fists in the air. "She's beginning to look a bit more like you, Mary, now that John's firmly bonded and the evolutionary need for her to look like a miniature version of him has presumably passed…"

"Sorry, Sherlock, back up a bit." John had finally moved from where he'd been virtually frozen in place by the front door, gently took his daughter out of Sherlock's arms and handed her back to Mary after placing a kiss on the baby's forehead. "You need my expertise because you're about to do what?"

"Enter a sexual relationship with Molly Hooper," Sherlock repeated, rolling his eyes as he did so. "Honestly, John, what's so difficult to understand about that?"

"So what brought this on, exactly?" Mary intervened with a grin, cuddling Ellie close and swaying a bit to encourage her daughter's already-drooping eyes into closing completely for her long overdue nap. "Sudden epiphany, was it, or did she finally lose patience and snog you in the morgue?"

Sherlock's eyes went a bit unfocused as he processed the idea of Molly doing such a thing…and found that he wouldn't mind in the least if that scenario were ever to play out in reality. "Um, sudden epiphany," he said, very glad that he was still wearing his coat even as he shifted as unobtrusively as possible in order to ease the sudden tightening in his trousers. "But there's a great deal of research for me to do first. It's been fifteen years since I last indulged, aside from one encounter in Kar…anyway," he said hastily, speaking hurriedly to keep John or Mary from pouncing on that little slip, "aside from that one night, I've been focused on the work, as you already know."

"And you're here now, because….?" Mary prompted him when he fell silent, not due to lack of things to say but from an overwhelming quantity of things to say.

"Because I need to consult John 'Three Continents' Watson," he replied, ignoring the huff of annoyance from John's direction and focusing on Mary. "His experiences are not only considerably more recent than my own, but also more numerous and exclusively involving women. Whereas my own experiences..."

"Yes, yes," John cut in hastily. "I get it, thanks, keep the gory details to yourself if you don't mind!"

"Sherlock, I'm guessing you're not looking for John to actually coach you through what happens after you and Molly get your clothes off, are you?" Mary gave her husband a cheeky wink as he sputtered and turned red with embarrassment.

"No, no, of course not," Sherlock said, waving a dismissive hand. "It's more the wooing beforehand, and of course since it's been so long I have only the vaguest inkling of what sorts of things women like these days."

"And you're not asking me about it, why?" Mary asked, still grinning as she walked across the room and laid Ellie down in her portable cot.

Sherlock sighed. Loudly. "Because, Mary, although I don't doubt that your insights would be invaluable, I very much doubt that you and Molly would be interested in the same things. For example, Molly showed a very keen interest when I was whipping a corpse with a riding crop, and my analysis of your relationship with John indicates a distinctly more traditional sort of sexu…"

"Sherlock, for fuck's sake!" John shouted.

Mary shot him a dirty look as Ellie gave a startled wail. John whispered an apology, then turned back to glower at Sherlock as Mary tried to calm their fussing infant. "Sherlock, Mary and I are NOT discussing our sex life with you, or having you deduce it. That topic is off limits, got it?"

Sherlock nodded, looking not at all abashed. "Fine. We'll confine the discussion to my upcoming sex life with Molly."

"You've already talked to her about this, let her know what you want?" Mary interrupted, holding a quieter (but still fussing) Ellie against her shoulder and rubbing soothing circular motions along her back.

Sherlock nodded briskly. "Yes, just now before I came over here." His brow wrinkled; had he, though? Yes, of course he had! "So I'll need your expertise, John, as I already stated, and it would prove helpful if you were to come with me…"

"How?" John interrupted (honestly none of them could seem to get out a full sentence without one of the others interrupting!). "And why should I help you? You've just insulted my private love life after implying that Molly's a kinky bird…"

"I implied no such thing!" Sherlock sounded thoroughly outraged as he (yet again) interrupted John. "A 'kinky bird' is quite frankly an insulting and degrading way to refer to a woman with a healthy interest in exploring alterna…"

"Shush, both of you!" Mary scolded, cuddling Ellie closer. "John, just go with Sherlock. You need to get out of the house; you've barely left my side since Ellie was born. This'll do you good!"

John gave his wife a betrayed look. "Fine," he grumbled, throwing up his hands in defeat. "Let's get this over with, then."

"Bring your laptop, John," Sherlock instructed.

"Why?" John asked, although he moved obediently to fetch it from his desk.

Sherlock just muttered something about research, then stood and jittered impatiently by the door while John stopped to kiss Mary and Ellie goodbye.

"The things I do for you people," John grumbled as he grabbed his keys and opened the front door.

"Oh, and John?" Mary called out. He turned and gave her an inquiring look. "Bring something nice home for us, will you?" she said with a wink.

Blushing with both embarrassment and anticipation, John hurried out to the car and practically dove behind the driver's seat. "Not a bloody word," he cautioned as Sherlock smirked at him from the passenger seat.

oOo

Instead of speaking (blessedly so!) Sherlock whipped out his mobile and started tapping away on the keyboard. After a minute John realized he had no idea where they were going and started to ask.

Sherlock spoke before he'd done more than open his mouth. "To Oxford Street, John. 103."

"That's…that's only about a half hour from Baker Street!" John blurted in surprise. His knowledge of London might not be as encyclopedic as his friend's, but he certainly knew Baker Street and its environs, or at least, he thought he did. What store could they possibly be…

He could feel the blood draining from his face even as he heard Sherlock chuckling. "Yes, John, _Harmony_. Frankly I'm surprised you never shopped for a gift for Mary there before this. They do have quite the extensive collection of…

"Yes, thanks, I know what they carry!" John bit out, wondering how he'd allowed himself to be roped into this. Sherlock had essentially admitted to not being as much of a virgin as Moriarty seemed to have thought he was – that is to say, not a virgin at all, which John was still trying to process since he'd long believed his friend to be asexual – but for him to be so at ease when heading to a sex shop…the mind boggled. Images of Sherlock and Molly having sex – kinky sex! – kept trying to conjure themselves up from John's all-too-vivid imagination, that same imagination that held him in good stead as a popular blogger but was utterly betraying him now.

His silent struggle with his imagination kept up the entire trip; fortunately Sherlock was too engrossed in his mobile to bother with either conversation or deducing his best friend. When they arrived at _Harmony_, John had to force himself out of the car, while Sherlock merely hopped out and strolled merrily through the doors.

oOo

Sherlock's gaze skirted over the wall displays of paraphernalia, mentally eliminating everything he knew for certain Molly would never appreciate simply from knowing her general tastes.

Nothing with animal print, she didn't care for it, and nothing neon for that matter. Too gaudy, too distracting from the task at hand. Material choices certainly weren't lacking: leather, metal, silk, feathers, silicone, glass… he was dismayed to admit he had no idea what her preference would be in those departments, nor what the superiority of one product was over another. His head snapped towards the clerk standing nearby.

"What is the failure rate of these items?" he asked.

The clerk gave him a worried look.

"Which items, sir? There are a lot…"

"Any of them."

"And by failure rate you mean…"

Sherlock let out an annoyed sigh.

"Do they break easily, cause injury, malfunction, not pass general safety standards set forth by England, fall short in their intended purpose," he prompted.

"Oh," the clerk said, looking surprised but quickly stepping forward to begin pointing out specific items. "Well these are some of our best sellers. Those over there are very popular with the ladies. I'd stay away from this brand, the reviews aren't great. If you're thinking of any sort of bondage, we have our beginner kit here, along with some guides on safety. Were you looking for anything in particular, or…?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he scanned the choices.

"Not entirely sure. Best go with one of everything. Do you have a trolley?"

"N-no," the clerk stammered in shock. "But we have some baskets."

"Excellent," Sherlock said with a smile, watching as the clerk hurried off to find the baskets. "John, do come make yourself helpful, we'll need extra hands."

"No, thank you," John ground out from his position looking firmly at the floor next to a mannequin dressed in leather and crystals. His face was redder than the silk blindfold wrapped over the mannequin's eyes.

"Oh don't be useless," Sherlock scolded, turning to inspect as display of lubricants as the clerk came back with several baskets. Sherlock picked up a bottle and turned it over, looking at the ingredients. "Now, what extracts do they use to achieve the 'chocolate strawberry' flavor?"

oOo

After a lengthy discussion about the pros and cons of various types of prophylactics – including failure rate, tensile strength, durability, and an especially squirm-inducing debate over the merits of flavored versus pre-lubricated brands – Sherlock and the ever-helpful young clerk made their way over to the counter while John scurried off to pick up something for himself and Mary.

When he returned to the counter, the clerk was busy ringing up the first basket of goods while a young assistant began bagging the purchases with a rather awe-struck expression on her face.

"You're actually going to buy all of….this," John sputtered as he took in the sight of the four overflowing baskets yet to be rung up. He gestured in a vaguely helpless manner and shook his head. Did Sherlock really need seventeen different types of condoms? And what was the point of the plush purple…pillow? Surely it was a pillow, had to be.

His friend nodded brightly. "Of course! I can hardly test out the relative merits of the prophylactics here, and clearly some experimentation is required both before and after Molly and I have…"

"Stop," John said firmly, shaking his head again and briefly squeezing his eyes shut. "Just…stop."

Sherlock shrugged as John opened his eyes again. "I don't understand your sudden squeamishness, John; you've been to war and crime scenes and even watched your wife give birth, so why a collection of merchandise meant to enhance one's sexual enjoyment should put you off is beyond me!"

"What if it puts Molly off?" John could have bit his tongue off for asking such a personal question, but Sherlock had started all of this so the blame could be placed squarely on his shoulders.

"It won't, Molly is an exceptional woman and she knows my methods, John, just as you do. I am methodical and precise when it comes to experimentation and she would expect nothing less from me! And since I don't know exactly what sort of sex Molly enjoys, this way all my bases are covered, as they say in America. I don't know why they say it," he mused while the clerk's lips twitched in suppressed amusement, "but the general meaning is clear."

"Be prepared?" the clerk murmured, and Sherlock beamed at him.

"Exactly! Be prepared!"

What was there to say to something like that? Nothing, John decided. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. He sheepishly put his purchase on the counter after Sherlock had finished paying for his sixteen bags of assorted toys and paraphernalia, handed the clerk his money and then helped Sherlock carry everything out to the car. Once the boot was filled and shut, off they went to Baker Street to unload their pornographic cargo.

As they entered the front door, Sherlock stopped and shoved his bags into John's arms while snatching the big purple pillowy-thing from beneath his arm.

"Sherlock, what the hell?" John grumbled as he stood in the doorway, trying not to drop the myriad bags piled up past his chin and dangling from his rapidly-numbing wrists and fingers. He wanted nothing more than to be inside with the door firmly shut behind them. What if someone saw them, recognized the name boldly emblazoned on the carriers and snapped some pictures to post on the internet? People still assumed he and Sherlock were or at least had been romantic partners as well as crime-solving partners, and he really didn't want that lot of rumors and innuendo to start up again. No matter how funny Mary found it.

The relief of finally getting behind the closed door was quickly replaced by horror when John watched Sherlock march through the foyer towards Mrs. Hudson's door, rapping on it loudly. The idea of sinking through the ground was quickly becoming the best in the world. With nowhere to hide, he simply plastered himself against the wall and prayed without hope that he was unnoticeable as Mrs. Hudson opened her door.

Smiling, Sherlock tossed the pillow slightly and caught it before handing it over to her. "Hello, Mrs. Hudson, I know your hip has been bothering you lately, hopefully this will help."

"Oh, Sherlock, how thoughtful!" She turned the box over in her hands and glanced up at him. "What exactly is a 'Liberator Hipster'?"

"Something for you to try out with the Butcher's beef," Sherlock said with a wink, clasping his hands behind his back.

"Oh!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed with an intrigued smile. She glanced behind Sherlock and caught sight of John and the bags. "You two been shopping?"

"Molly!" John blurted out, causing Sherlock to give him a look. "_He's_ been shopping for _Molly_."

Mrs. Hudson raised her eyebrows. "Well I hope you did a little shopping for Mary, dear, that woman deserves a treat. Raising a child isn't easy," she said with an endearing look towards Sherlock.

When she disappeared behind her door, John nodded insistently towards the stairs. "Can this be over now. Please?"

"Certainly, John, I'll just fetch your laptop since your hands are full." Before John could protest Sherlock deftly removed his keys from his jacket pocket and headed back outside, leaving the other man to struggle up the stairs with his burden.

Once inside the flat he dumped the entire double-armful onto Sherlock's bed, deeming the overflowing kitchen table unusable. Turning his back on the entire mess of purchases, he walked out of the room and made every attempt to scrub his mind of the visual of _those_ things on Sherlock's bed. A few moments later, he realized his torment wasn't over.

"What did you do with all of your videos?"

Sherlock's sharp voice greeted him as he walked back into the lounge. He was sitting on the sofa, John's laptop open on the coffee table in front of him, with a look of consternation on his face as he typed rapidly on the keyboard. A man on a mission, obviously.

"What videos?" John asked as he plopped himself down in his chair.

"You know very well what videos," Sherlock said tartly. "I thought I made it very clear why I asked you to help me with this and now you bring me a computer completely void of anything that can be considered informative."

It took him a moment, but John finally caught up with what Sherlock was seeking. His eyes squeezed tightly shut and he grimaced, hoping that when he opened them again he would find out it had all been a bad dream and that he wasn't sitting in Baker Street about to explain why he'd purged his computer of some very specific material.

"Let me explain something to you," he told Sherlock slowly. "Because I know that wooing a woman is about as foreign to you as anything could be. What's in those videos… most women do not want that in real life."

"And that's why you deleted them, because Mary didn't like –"

John flung up a hand to stop that very personal line of conversation.

"Off. Limits. We talked about this," he warned, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. When he saw Sherlock's put out face, he sighed. The poor bastard was truly up a creek and wanted help. "I wasn't about to keep that around with a wife, whom I love very much, and a baby at home."

Sherlock blinked at him, then nodded, apparently satisfied with the explanation.

"But if it's not typical of what women want, then why watch it?" he asked, looking genuinely baffled.

John rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and pulled a hand over his face.

"Why. Do. You. Think?" he grumbled.

There was nothing but silence from the genius detective for a few seconds.

"Oh. Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed, sitting up a bit straighter and abandoning the laptop. "Well that is rather unfortunate."

"And why is that?"

"Based on my memories of the contents of your computer prior to your marriage, I'd designed some rather specific equations and tests to determine the physical possibilities of some of the acrobatics portrayed, I won't bore you with the details…"

"Thank God."

"Yup," Sherlock said, making a face as he looked down at his phone. "Molly is going to want a reason for why I've been texting her, asking for measurements and weight."

It was John's turn to blink in astonishment at his friend.

"You were trying…"

"To calculate the physics of some of the more interesting positions from those videos given Molly's dimensions, yes."

John hauled himself out of the chair and crossed the room to snatch his laptop from the coffee table, meeting Sherlock's perplexed stare.

"You said you wanted my advice," John said simply. "Here it is. Invite her over. Make her dinner. You, not Mrs. Hudson. Tell her how you feel. Show her your 'lair of love,' and if she likes it…"

"She will. Riding crop, remember?"

"Mm, nope, doing everything I can to forget that," John assured him. "But if you manage to not scare her off, then, Sherlock, do everything you can to keep her, because I will consider you a lucky sodding bastard."

Then he marched out the front door, relieved to be allowed to return to his own home and his own wife and daughter. Next time Sherlock called him, it had better be for a bloody case.


	2. Anticipation

_A/N: Soooo...remember how I said this was going to be a two parter? Well, after talking things over with my partner in crime, asteraceaeblue, we agreed that it really needs to be at least three parts. So here is part 2, hope you like it!_

* * *

><p>After John left, Sherlock spent a great deal of time in his chair, unmoving, considering the advice his friend had given him. Could it really be that simple? Dinner (prepared by him, not as much of a chore as John seemed to believe, cooking was merely another form of chemistry), conversation regarding (he shuddered) <em>feelings<em>…much more complicated, that bit, but he suspected if he tried to skip over it John would rate it Not Good and Molly would leave. Not the desired outcome at all.

Actually, it probably _wouldn't_ be all that difficult, since he'd already expressed his interest in altering the nature of their relationship, back in the lab. He relaxed slightly; that meant the hardest part was essentially already taken care of, and he could concentrate on the dinner and the mood-setting and the…what had John called it? Oh, yes, the 'lair of love'. Good name, that. He approved, and had every confidence that Molly would as well.

As he reviewed his actions and the conversations of the day, a frown gradually took over his face. Neither John nor Mary seemed too terribly surprised that he'd decided to initiate a romantic relationship with Molly Hooper, once their initial shock at his announcement had passed. Nor, for that matter, had Mrs. Hudson. He had the distinct impression that John had no interest in seeing him again today, but Mrs. Hudson was still in her flat. He bounced to his feet and headed back downstairs.

This time when he knocked, instead of opening the door for him he heard his landlady give a muffled call from her sitting room. Rounding the corner, he beheld the sight of his landlady testing out the 'Liberator Hipster', her bum in the air and a frown on her face. "Sorry, Sherlock, I should have put this on the bed rather than the floor," she said as she attempted to raise herself up.

"Mrs. Hudson, I appreciate your desire to test the functionality of my gift, but why didn't you remove your apron first?" he asked curiously as he offered a hand to his landlady.

She gave him a cheeky wink as she allowed him to pull her back to her feet, smoothing down the crumpled, frilly garment in question. "Oh, my butcher has a thing for aprons, dear."

He made note of that fact, filing it away for future reference – and possible use with Molly. Really, he should have made out a questionnaire for her to fill out, it would have made things like his shopping trip so much easier. Ah well, hindsight was twenty/twenty and all that. "Mrs. Hudson, why weren't you surprised that I'd made some purchases at a sex shop for Molly?"

"Well, I just assumed you two were already sleeping together," she replied equably as she bustled about her kitchen, filling the electric kettle and setting out two mugs on the counter. "You do run off to her place so often, at all hours! Not to mention all the personal deliveries for you 'experiments'…" Mrs. Hudson turned to smile at him, actually raising her hands and making air quotes, as if she disbelieved that his experiments were real in spite of the evidence she'd seen with her own eyes – and repeatedly complained about.

"Actual experiments," he corrected her amiably, leaning back on the counter and snagging a chocolate biscuit from the plate she set out. "And no, no sex with Molly yet. But if you see me carrying in some bags from Tesco's in the next few days, I'd advise you to double up on your 'herbal soothers' to help you sleep through the noise!" He made the same air quotes gesture she had, then grinned and popped the entire biscuit into his mouth, chewing noisily as she chuckled and swatted him on the arm with a tea towel.

**oOo**

John sighed with relief as he parked the car. Home, safe, no more insane friends dragging him out to sex shops. Just nice, peaceful home, with his wife and daughter. Yes, he got bored when his life was too 'normal' but this sort of excitement he could pretty much do without.

He unlocked the front door and pushed it open, not calling out to Mary as he usually did in case Ellie was asleep. He certainly hoped she was, as he looked forward to seeing Mary in the lacy negligee he'd purchased for her. He placed his keys on the table by the door, toed off his shoes and brought the bag into the parlor. Mary was seated on the sofa, flipping through a magazine, and he could see the baby monitor next to her was lit up, meaning Ellie was asleep in her cot upstairs.

"Hello, wife," he greeted her, kissing her lips as she set the magazine aside.

"Hello, husband," she replied after the kiss ended, smiling brightly as he seated himself next to her. "Good to see you made it home safe and sound! So how's our lustful cock monster doing?"

If John had been drinking anything he would have spat it all over his wife; as it was, he simply choked a bit and flailed. What had ever possessed him to think that the subject of Sherlock's hypothetical sex life could be set aside now that the man himself wasn't around? "Mary," he sputtered after a moment, "can we please just…not?"

"So what did he buy?" she asked, ignoring his question and reaching out for the bag he still held clutched in his hands. "More importantly, what did _you_ buy?"

Her soft gasp of pleasure told John that he'd made the right choice, and as she held the flimsy garment up to her chest, he noted proudly that it exactly matched the blue of her eyes. "Any chance you might, um, want to try it on now?" he asked huskily as he reached out and ran one finger across the back of her hand.

Mary nodded. "Ellie's just gone down for another nap, right after her feeding," she replied with a soft smile. "Would you care to join me for an impromptu modeling session, husband?"

John's answer was a warm and enthusiastic kiss, which Mary returned just as warmly, and more than enthusiastically. It had been months since they'd had sex and he could tell she was just as eager for them to resume that part of their relationship as he was. Hand in hand, they dashed up the stairs to their bedroom, Mary clutching her negligee and John carrying the baby monitor.

Thank God their own sex lives would take up Mary's time for a while, he thought with no small amount of relief as he shut the door behind them. Sherlock's could go hang.

**oOo**

Molly tapped on the half-open door and peered inside the flat. No sign of Sherlock, but that was typical; he was always asking her over to help out or drop off body parts and then forgetting about her. She'd give him ten minutes, maybe have tea with Mrs. Hudson, and then text him and see if he was even still in London.

She was certainly interested in knowing what the barrage of texts she'd received the past few days had to with this new case; what on earth did Sherlock need her measurements and weight for? She'd sent him back a tart response of 'none of your bloody business' but he'd insisted it was important and so of course she'd given in. But one word – just one _single_ word – about how much weight she'd supposedly gained, and she would clock him one. As for the other texts…why the hell he'd thought she'd have an opinion on 'manscaping' was beyond her. Was his latest case something to do with a sex club? She grinned at the thought of him going undercover as a stripper; oh, she'd pay good money to see him prancing around in a mankini!

As she entered the flat she heard what sounded like a muffled curse coming from the direction of Sherlock's bedroom. Curiously she walked to the short hallway leading to his room and the loo, doing a double-take as she saw the elaborately set up kitchen table. Then Sherlock's voice caught her attention again, and she continued on her original course. "Damned buttons!"

"Sherlock? Is everything all right? D'you need some help?" she called out as she edged closer to the partially open door.

"Yes, it's these damned cuffs, smaller buttons than I'm used to, come in," he said impatiently, and she pushed the door open, stopping in confusion at the sight that greeted her. Sherlock was standing in front of his dresser, struggling to close the buttons on the cuff of what appeared to be a brand new aubergine shirt – her favorite color on him, she noted automatically – but for once it wasn't the yummy looking consulting detective who held the majority of her attention, but the very odd contents of his bedroom: every flat surface, including the bed and several square feet of the floor, was covered with…boxes of condoms and sex toys?!

"Sherlock, exactly what sort of a case is this?"

He squinted at her in confusion. "Case? What are you…oh, that," he said, taking note of where her attention was currently focused. "Sorry. That just sort of…happened. We'll sort it out after dinner."

Before Molly could ask what he meant by that, he had taken her by the elbow and was escorting her back out of the room, snagging his jacket on the way and shrugging into as she obediently moved back into the parlor. "So, tell me about the case," she tried again, only to turn and see that Sherlock had bustled into the kitchen.

A remarkably clean kitchen, she noted as she wandered slowly after him. She paid closer attention to the white cloth on the table, which she now realized was laid out with a setting for two including wine glasses, an unlit candle in the middle, and a small bouquet of flowers in a low vase next to that. She was distracted by a rather heavenly aroma coming from the oven as Sherlock opened it and peered inside. "Sherlock, really, what sort of a case are we working on? Is this a re-created crime scene you need me to act out with you or something?"

Sherlock straightened and closed the oven door, peering at her with even more interest than he had the roast she'd caught a glimpse of. "Roleplaying, Molly? Is that something you'd be interested in? Because my research has given me some very intriguing ideas. Are you familiar with the term 'Daddy Dom', for instance?"

"I, uh…"

Molly just stood there, staring across the table at Sherlock, stammering and gulping for air as realization suddenly dawned on her. None of it was for a case. It was for _her_. And Sherlock Holmes was currently asking her what sort of preference she had for… Well, of course, she knew what he was talking about, but why in hell was he asking her if she was familiar with it or not? It was insanity, why on earth would he care about her interest in things like _that_?

"Sherlock, this… I mean, what is all of this? What are you doing?"

The look he gave her was patented Sherlock Holmes: a slight tilt of the head, straightening of the mouth, narrowing of the eyes, all to let her know that he somehow expected better of her intelligence.

"I made it quite clear to you the other day, Molly. I explained my reasoning in detail, right down to our compatible mental prowess and the fact that you can fulfill my fantasies of having intercourse in a morgue wearing nothing but a lab coat. I told you I would buy all the sexual things, all the things…" Molly gaped at him, vindicated that the look she had been fixed with was completely unearned. She had no bloody idea what he was talking about, and he was beginning to realize that fact as well. "I didn't say it out loud, did I?"

Molly shook her head, her lips pursing tight. For a man as outspoken and, well, brash as Sherlock was, it would stand to reason that a conversation that important had gone on entirely in his head. It was John Watson's wedding speech all over again, she thought in a combination of equal parts fondness and exasperation.

Sherlock frowned at the revelation, but recovered quickly. "Well," he said brightly, gesturing towards the chair in front of Molly. "No reason we can't discuss everything over dinner!"

In a sort of dreamlike state, Molly sat down and watched as Sherlock crossed to the counter to uncover a platter of something that instantly filled the room with a divine smell. He turned with a slight flourish and placed the platter in the center of the table.

"Quinoa with roasted butternut squash and shallots," he announced proudly before crossing to the fridge and procuring a (rather expensive looking) bottle of white wine.

It all started to sink in while Molly watched him pop the cork and pour the chilled liquid into two glasses: she was being wined and dined by Sherlock Holmes. Oh holy Mary…

"So," she said after taking a few bites of the quinoa – perfectly prepared and sinfully delicious. "You think we're compatible?" Her mind flashing to the bedroom full of paraphernalia, she clarified, "Sexually compatible?"

Sherlock, who had been tucking in with what looked like unfeigned enthusiasm, nodded. "Obviously. I should have seen it years ago, but of course the work was paramount, couldn't let myself get distracted even though it was clear you were interested in me as a possible romantic partner. Plus I spent far too long listening to my brother spout off about how sentiment was a chemical defect and caring wasn't an advantage and people were just goldfish. Stupid, now that I think about it, but until recently I didn't have any personal evidence – aside from our parents, of course, but one does tend to dismiss one's parents under such circumstances, doesn't one…where was I? Oh yes, Mycroft and evidence. After becoming friends with John, and understanding that I had already formed close bonds with Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade before that, I came to the conclusion that Mycroft and I were both wrong," he said emphatically, locking his gaze on Molly's face and giving her a winning smile.

Molly couldn't help but smile back in spite of her continuing confusion. "So that made you change your mind, did it? About sex?" Molly asked, fascinated and a bit put off by Sherlock's rapid fire explanation. Any glimpse into the complexities of his mind, seeing how he thought, was by definition fascinating, but to hear the concepts of love and even simple caring dismissed as negatives…off-putting to say the least.

"It opened my mind to the possibilities of engaging in a sexual relationship with _you_," he corrected her, pinning her with a smoldering look that would have collapsed her knees if she'd been standing instead of sitting. "Not just sex, of course, but all of it." He waved one hand in the air, the one still holding his fork, then frowned and set the utensil back on the table. "Romance, love, sentiment…all of it. And all because of you."

It was overwhelming, to say the least, but Molly did her best to get her short-circuiting brain to start functioning again. "So you want to have sex with me," she said slowly.

Sherlock nodded and leaned forward. "Very much so," he assured her. "And as soon as possible; considering how much time I've already wasted, I have no interest in putting it off any longer than necessary."

"And you want to be involved in a romantic relationship with me," Molly plugged on, doing her best to ignore the flush in her cheeks and the rapid increase in her heart rate. She looked at him, meeting his eyes squarely as he nodded again. "And…love?"

He huffed and sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest and a rather adorable pout on his lips. "Yes, Molly, love," he repeated. "As in, you love me, I love you, dinner's been marvelous so far, but if you're ready, we can skip right to dessert." He stood up while Molly continued to stare at him, crossed over to her side of the table, and swooped down to pull her to her feet, her hands settling on his chest as he held her closely.

"So, Molly Hooper, have I made my intentions clear enough? No misunderstandings, no questions left to clarify?" he asked huskily. He tilted his head downward, brushing her left ear with his lips and whispered, "I certainly hope not, because I would very much like to kiss you now."

"Um, okay," she breathed, mind whirling. And then his hands were cupping her face and his lips were touching hers and her mind went mercifully blank as her eyes fluttered shut. She returned the kiss, obediently opening her mouth when his tongue touched her lips, pressing her body against his and feeling very satisfactory evidence against her hip that Sherlock was just as affected by all this as she was. He groaned into her mouth as her arms wrapped around his waist, and his hands wandered down her body, stopping to cup her breasts briefly and wring an answering moan from her lips before settling firmly on her buttocks.


	3. Consummation

_A/N: OK, all, here be the smutty smutness you've been waiting for. One more chapter after this and the saga is complete. Thanks as always to my co-writer asteraceaeblue for her able assitance, and thanks to everyone for reading, reviewing, and favoriting. :)_

* * *

><p>"Bedroom?" Sherlock said when he broke the kiss, red-faced and panting a bit. His pupils were blown back about as far as they could be without entirely swallowing up his irises, and Molly suspected her own were just as bad. She nodded in response to his question, not for a single second wondering if she was making the right choice here. Sherlock had declared his intentions about as clearly as any man could – he wanted her, he wanted to be involved in a romantic relationship with her, and he loved her. And since all three were things she wanted as well, then why wait or second guess anything?<p>

Oh, except, perhaps, his choice of bedroom over sofa; in the heat of the moment she'd forgotten the piles of…stuff…on Sherlock's bed. However, knowing that it was all for her, that he'd gone out and purchased it all just for her – she felt blown away, dizzy with happiness, and a bit giggly at the thought of using some of those items. Not tonight, of course, but someday. "Um, maybe we should go…" she started to say, but fell silent as he bounded over to the bed and cleared it with one impatient sweep of his arm. "Oh, okay, then!"

In another bound he was back at her side, pulling her close and swooping down for another urgent kiss. "Oh, God, Molly, the things I want to do to you, with you, for you," he mumbled as he began undoing the zip to her dress while simultaneously trying to shrug out of his jacket.

They both had a chuckle when the clothing removal turned into a bit of a drunken dance, with shoes being kicked off and those damned cuff buttons refusing to come undone in a timely fashion. Stupid things probably resented being forced into the little slots and then back out again so soon after, Molly thought deliriously as she tried to undo the one on the right. Sherlock pulled his arm away and made her laugh again as he simply ripped the button off.

"So much for the new shirt!" she giggled as she slithered out of her dress and peeled her stockings down to her ankles.

Sherlock went quiet, so quiet that she peered up in concern, to find him staring at her as she wiggled her bum and lifted one leg to free herself of the nylons. The next thing she knew she was lying on her back in the middle of Sherlock's bed while he swiftly undid her bra and removed her knickers, his unbuttoned shirt still hanging off his shoulders and his trousers undone, revealing his dark grey briefs and that lovely bulge she'd felt against her hip when they were kissing.

When she reached for him he grabbed her wrists and hauled her hands up to rest on either side of her head, lowering his mouth to her throat and sucking greedily while she moaned and writhed beneath him. How did he know that was one of her favorite things, to have her body peppered with love bites, to have to face the challenge of covering them up from sight the next day? And how did he know to nip at her breasts and not just suckle like an oversized baby, to tease and torment her until she didn't know which way was up? Was he just that bloody observant, that brilliant, or had he actually snuck a peek at her diary one of the many times he'd used her flat as a bolthole?

If that was the case, they were going to have words, but not right this minute. She wasn't going to spend so much as a fraction of a second worrying about how he knew she would absolutely go insane if he sucked a hickey into the back of her left knee. Or that she liked her pussy licked while he squirmed those long violinist's fingers inside her cunt and ass at the same time. Nope, not gonna worry about any of it, not now when he was doing such a fan-bloody-tastic job getting her off within minutes of getting her clothes off.

"Fuck, Sherlock," she gasped as his tongue writhed against her clit. He'd released her hands and she currently had her fingers buried in his dark curls, loving the way he moaned and pressed his face even more eagerly against her cunt when she did so.

He pulled up abruptly, leaving her gasping with want, kneeling up to peer down at her. "Should we try any of my purchases?" he asked, sounding uncertain and a bit lost. As if he hadn't just had her on the cusp of orgasm with his body alone. "I have a riding crop, not the one I use on corpses, of course, that certainly wouldn't be very hygienic, but I do recall your, erm, fascination that day and I thought, taking that into consideration, that perhaps this…" He leaned over the side of the bed while Molly stared at him in bemusement. Really? He was doing this now?

Apparently so. She watched as he rummaged through the piles of stuff he'd swept onto the floor, giving a triumphant little "ah-HA" as he found what he was looking for and held it up for her to see.

"_Bondage for Beginners_," Molly read obediently, still a bit surprised by Sherlock's sudden attack of nerves. And yes, she would call it that, since she could see how uncertain he was. "Well, yes, that's…very nice, Sherlock, but maybe we could, um, save it for another time? I mean, we haven't even talked about whether you're a Dom or a switch, and although I think you'd make a wonderful sub, I don't actually need any of this right now. Not for our first time." She smiled at him as lovingly as she could manage, feeling her heart swell as he squinted uncertainly down at her, as if assessing the honesty of her words.

She continued to smile at him, reaching up to brush his dark curls from his forehead. She filed away for later consideration the sight of those gorgeous cheeks flushing when she'd told him she thought he'd make a wonderful sub; perhaps they could make use of one of his stolen sets of handcuffs some other time and explore exactly how many of these toys _he_ might enjoy experimenting with…and which ones he'd perhaps subconsciously chosen based on his own desires rather than hers.

Her breath caught as the uncertainty vanished from his eyes, replaced by a knowing intensity seconds before he lowered his head to hers for another searing kiss, his natural taste overlain by the heady scent and flavor of her own juices on lips and tongue. One hand ghosted down her body as he lay next to her, the other twining itself in her hair as he continued to kiss her. She was holding tightly to his shoulders, one leg over his hip as his free hand reached its goal.

Molly moaned and squirmed as Sherlock's fingers danced along her sex, delving in and out in a lovely pattern…wait, not just a lovely pattern, a lovely _recognizable_ pattern. She opened her eyes and stared at him. "Sherlock, are you…is that Mozart?" she asked.

He popped his head up and beamed at her. "Well done, Molly, how did you know?"

"I played violin when I was little, gave it up after I went to uni, couldn't afford to split my attention once I started medical training." She let out a soft "ohhh" of pleasure as his fingers returned to their work. There were obvious benefits to having a gifted violinist as a lover – and it was especially gratifying to know that his often acerbic, sarcastic tongue could be put to such wonderful use as well. "But, uhhh, maybe I might…mmmmmmm….take it up again if you wouldn't m-mind teach…"

Her mind went blank and she fell abruptly silent as he brought his mouth back down to her breasts, licking and sucking eagerly at her nipples while his fingers continued to work her, the Mozart Violin Concerto in G Major playing out on her body, working her to a crescendo that culminated in her crying out his name amidst a babble of pleas to God and various other cosmic entities as she came crashing back down to Earth.

She vaguely noticed when he pulled his hand free of her body, too lost in the haze of satisfaction that overtook her after a particularly satisfying orgasm – which this definitely had been, top of the list for sure – to protest the abrupt lack of contact. She only whimpered a bit when he removed himself from her body almost completely, only one long, pale and well-muscled leg resting on hers as he leaned over the side of the bed and began rooting around on the floor again.

"Sherlock," she groaned when she could speak again, feeling her heart slowing back to normal, "I told you we don't need anything…oh," she said as he popped back up, holding several boxes of condoms in his hands. "Well, yes, I suppose that would be a good…"

"Which kind do you prefer? There are more if none of these are to your liking," he interrupted, sounding rather anxious again. "I only purchased three of the flavored types, taking into account your personal tastes – the chocolate cherry ones in particular seemed…"

She shut him up by the (very satisfactory) method of pulling him down for a kiss. "I'm not fussy, Sherlock," she breathed when the kiss ended. "Any one of these will do. As for the flavored kind…" She gave him a wicked grin and was rewarded by the sight and sound of him gulping for air, eyes widening as she brushed her hand against his erection, "Unless there's a particular need for you to wear a condom during a blow job, I prefer not to have any extra layers when I put my mouth on a man."

His eyes had gone unfocused as she squeezed gently, then slipped one finger beneath the elastic waistband of his briefs and allowed it to snap back against his skin. "Maybe we should get rid of these first?"

He moved with alacrity, rearing up on his knees and skinning out of his remaining clothes in record time. Molly watched in amused anticipation as he opened one of the condom boxes, only then noticing that they'd actually all been opened before. Had he pinched them from John? No, of course not, the boxes were all new, and if he hadn't been having sex with anyone recently (besides her lucky self, of course!), then why…

"Research, Molly, had to make sure of the fit and durability," Sherlock mumbled around the foil packet he was currently holding in his mouth as he shoved the condom boxes back onto the floor. She just nodded; of course he'd researched that, why wouldn't he? Clearly he'd gone to a great deal of trouble, and all for her. Warmth suffused her at the giddy thought of Sherlock doing all this for her, and she wondered if it was actually possible for a human body to be too small to contain all the love she felt for this wonderful, ridiculous man.

When he reached to roll the condom on himself, however, she twitched it out of his fingers, kneeling up and reaching down to grasp his erection firmly in her hand. "Let me," she breathed, and heard an answering groan that sounded a bit like "fuckyesmollyplease", as if he'd invented a new word just for her.

Temptation beckoned, and Molly wasn't in any shape to resist, not tonight. She lowered her head and slid her tongue along Sherlock's erection, base to tip, as she continued to squeeze rhythmically with her hand. He made inarticulate groaning sounds, and one hand groped its way from her shoulder to her head, but he didn't press or exert any pressure, just held on for dear life as she slipped her mouth over the head of his cock and sucked him in as deep as she could manage.

"Christ, Molly!" she heard him gasp, and hummed her approval of his continued dirty talk while he bucked his hips involuntarily. After giving him a thorough taste of things to come (snickering internally at her own joke), Molly pulled her mouth away and sat back on her heels. Before she could ask how much Sherlock had enjoyed his 'heady' experience, she found herself flat on her back with a very predatory looking Consulting Detective covering her body with his.

Molly was still holding the rolled-up condom in her hand and quickly moved to sheathe Sherlock's – well, she didn't want to call it his 'little consulting detective' since it was a bit too impressively sized for such a coy nickname, but the idea of finding something to call it other than his penis or cock was very appealing. Later. Like the toys, she consoled herself as she fumbled the condom onto its intended destination.

As soon as she drew her hands away he was on her, grasping her right hip and pulling her leg up in order to open her wide enough to be able to plunge inside her without once touching himself. Then it was Molly's turn to gasp and moan and grapple at his head and shoulders, tugging on his dark curls before mumbling an incoherent apology against his lips.

"No, it's good, do it again," he urged her, smiling down at her with eyes heavy-lidded and dark with lust. He thrust his hips forward, just a bit, and she moaned and grabbed his hair and pulled while he made little approving noises, grunts and gasps in the back of his throat as he continued to move against her. "Faster?" he asked, leaning down to nip at her clavicle.

"God, yes," she groaned, hitching her other leg up around his narrow waist, squirming beneath him until suddenly their mismatched movements synched. He filled her beautifully, feeling as sinfully good inside her as she'd always fantasized he would, and she hoped she was meeting his own expectations at least half as well. Judging by the glazed expression in his eyes, his half-open lips panting hot breaths against her ear, the sweat gathering on his brow and the enthusiasm of his thrusts…well, she wasn't a vain woman, but she fancied he was enjoying this as much as she was.

And hot damn if she wasn't slowly but steadily building up to another orgasm, one that promised to be just as smashing as the first one he'd given her. No other partner had managed nearly as well – some, to be honest, hadn't even managed to get her off once in the same night, let alone twice! And if he kept moving like that, he'd soon have her squealing his name and clawing at his back and quite possibly taking out a few hunks of that glorious hair, which would be a sin and a shame and… "Oh, GOD!" she cried out as he reached down between their joined bodies, pressing his thumb against her clitoris and rubbing softly at the aching nub. His mouth descended to her breasts and there she was, falling over the precipice yet again, the familiar litany of 'God yes' and 'fuck me harder' and 'don't stop' mixing in with his name and cries to various deities as she came floating back down from the bloody cosmos he'd shot her into.

She wanted to tell him he was amazing, how much she loved him and needed him and wanted him, but as she stared up at him, all she could manage was a whimpered, "Fuck!"

That, it would appear, was all he needed to send him crashing over his own precipice; with a strangled gasp his hips stuttered against hers in a frantic pace before his body went rigid. Sweat dripped from his nose to her shoulder as he gasped and finally stilled, collapsing bonelessly against her for a moment while she held him in her arms and cooed endearments into his ear.


	4. Afterglow

_A/N: Thus endeth this smutty little saga. Many thanks to my awesome cowriter, asteraceaeblue, and to Benedict Cumberbatch for providing such delicious fodder for our fertile imaginations to work with! Some smut, some Greek mythology for no particular reason (my fault entirely) and some...well, you'll see. Thanks for reading and reviewing!_

* * *

><p>Lying with Sherlock's weight pressed so deliciously into her, reveling in his warmth, Molly lost track of how long they remained like that. It could have been a minute or it could have been ten. Personally, she never wanted it to end. She just wanted to stay wrapped underneath him, feeling residual flutters in her body every time his cock pulsed just one more time inside of her, whispering utter nonsense in his ear.<p>

"Molly," he rumbled, pushing himself up to look down at her. "Did you actually just compare me to the Greek muse Erato?"

Ah, perhaps the "utter nonsense" had been a little clearer than she'd intended.

She leaned up on her elbows, hair falling in her face, knowing she must look a right mess, but loving the fact that Sherlock looked almost as undone. His curls were disarrayed, his cheeks flushed and forehead sweaty, pupils blown back and there was a bit of a furrow between his eyebrows. She bit back and embarrassed giggle and nodded. "Um, yes, I did, sorry. But you were a bit, um, inspiring there!"

His expression turned from incredulity to smug satisfaction in a split second as he eased off her body to lie on his side, propping his head on his hand as he smirked down at her. "Yes, well, I have been compared to a God before, so it's not really a surprise you'd find me so amazing."

Molly poked him with one finger as she turned to face him. "The amazing part is that you even knew that Erato was one of the Muses at all, mister 'I delete everything that's not relevant to the Work'!"

His expression instantly became serious. "I have never deleted anything having to do with you, Molly Hooper. Ever. And even if I didn't know you'd ever studied violin – the tell-tale calluses have long faded," he interrupted himself to explain as he lifted her fingers and tenderly caressed the tips, "I do know that you have had an interest in Greek mythology that began in childhood and continues to this day."

She slowly grinned at him, folding her hands over her stomach and settling further into the pillow below her head.

"Tell me more about my interests," she commanded.

"Well," Sherlock said with a haughty quirk of his eyebrows, his hand reaching out to trace a finger along her arm. "You like reading about all kinds of mythology around the world…it fascinates you."

"Mm-hm."

"But the Greek mythology is particularly special to you," he continued. "You find it romantic, for some reason. Dangerous and intriguing. Which could explain why wielding a riding crop seemed to pique your interest…"

Molly elbowed him, but couldn't keep back an amused smile.

"You're one to mock romantic stories, you bought me a whole store of…" Her eyes drifted around the room as she tried to come up with a suitable word to categorize the plethora of items he had purchased. "Entertainment. Just to make me happy."

"Well if I'd known making you so very, _very_ happy without the help of any of this was so easy, I probably wouldn't have purchased quite so much," he informed her, leaning down to capture her lips in a highly satisfying kiss.

And, oh my, what a kiss. If she had been in deep before when it came to Sherlock, she was quickly sinking deeper with every sweep of his tongue over hers, every inch of her body that his hands explored. He slipped an arm under her back and tugged her to him, settling on his back so that she was draped over his chest, her breasts pressed into his skin. Her already sensitive nipples tingled at the contact. After a particularly delicious snog, he pulled back to look at her, cradling her face in his hands.

Molly released a contented sigh and lowered her head to his chest, completely relaxed as his arms wrapped around her. Nothing about the evening was what she had been expecting when she trekked to Baker Street, but she certainly wasn't complaining. Her mind began to wander as she thought of what Sherlock must have had in mind with all of the toys and gadgets he'd invested in. Did he even know what to do with half of it? If not, she was entirely up to the task of teaching him.

Just as she began to explore the possibilities, her eyes landed on an unfamiliar item sitting on his bedside table.

"Sherlock, what is that?" Molly asked, her head titling up to get a better look.

"What?" he said, following her gaze. "Oh! Ah, yes…this was something that was recommended highly." He reached over to pick up the black, circular object and the rectangular control next to it. Rolling over to face her, he took her hand and extended her fingers upwards, slipping the ring over her index and middle digits. "The man at the shop assured me that this could be mutually beneficial…and has a very unique feature."

As he said this, he pushed a button on the control and the ring immediately started to buzz around Molly's fingers. Her eyes widened, her mouth quirking up with an interested smile.

"Remotely controlled," she said.

"Allows for more…public usage," he told her, hitting another button to turn the device off before putting the control firmly into her hand. "At your discretion."

Molly regarded the items in her hand, flattered that Sherlock would trust her with something like that. But at the moment, she had far more interest in some of the other things she'd spotted about the room. Sliding away from him and smirking at his confused expression, she hopped off the bed and sauntered over to his dresser, highly aware that he was taking in the sight of her naked form as she moved. She set the ring and control down on the top of the dresser and perused the other items piled up there. Spotting what she wanted, she picked up the satin fabric and turned to walk back towards the bed.

Sherlock watched her carefully as she crawled onto the mattress, moving over his legs and settling herself over his hips. She noticed that he'd removed the condom and done a cursory job of cleaning himself up while her back had been turned. _Quick, clever man_, she thought.

"As much as I like the idea of a lot of these things," she began with a smile, lifting the satin fabric up for him to see. "I think we should start with something a little more…simple."

His eyebrows rose and she took a great deal of pride in watching the flush spread over his skin. His hands slid up over her knees and came to rest on her thighs, squeezing her flesh.

"Blindfolds. Interesting. I would have thought you'd go for the restraints," he said, almost sounding disappointed.

"We haven't established any rules for that sort of thing, yet. There's protocol to be followed there," Molly informed him, squirming a bit as she felt his hips flex up towards her.

"Always a rule enforcer, my Molly."

"Mmm, but I will remember that Sherlock Holmes just asked to be tied up," she giggled, only laughing harder when he gripped her hips and ground against her. Molly arched an eyebrow. "Ready again so soon?"

Sherlock grinned. "Yup," he replied, popping the p in an obnoxious manner. "Took my vitamins, made sure I got plenty of sleep last night, and in case you haven't noticed, I've given up smoking again."

"I did notice," Molly said, leaning forward to hover over his lips. "It makes doing _this_ much more pleasant."

Pressing her lips to his, she slid her hand beneath his head and lifted him towards her, trying to concentrate on her task even as she felt him hardening against her cunt. God, he really was magnificent. _No, focus Molly!_ she chastised herself, pulling away from him just enough to slip the blindfold over his eyes and secure it snugly. She took a moment to run her fingers through his soft curls as she finished with the knot.

"Good?" she asked.

"Very good," he murmured, trying to reach for her again.

"Uh-uh," she laughed, leaning back even further. She pushed gently at his chest until he was supine on the bed. "The whole point of this, Mr. Holmes, is that you get to lie back and enjoy. _Feel_."

A low growling noise came from his throat and Molly smirked. She lifted herself off of him momentarily and leaned over the side of the bed, searching the array of boxes that were scattered on the floor. Grabbing two, she resituated herself and gulped slightly when he bucked against her.

"Now then," Molly said, her voice pitching a bit higher as his hands began to massage the flesh of her arse. "What do you think: ribbed or warming and tingling?"

"Mm, hard to choose, both sound just...just..." Sherlock trailed off, sniffing curiously and Molly cocked her head, staring at him as his face scrunched up. "Molly, do you smell burning?"

"Now that you mention it, actually..."

Before she knew what was happening, she was flat on her back on the bed and Sherlock had bolted buck naked from the room, ripping the blindfold from his eyes.

"The roast!" he shouted as he disappeared into the hall. Molly stared after him, totally stunned. A second later, he came skidding back into the room and pointed at her.

"Warm and tingling, don't go anywhere, won't be a moment!"

Molly grinned, then laughed, then rolled onto her stomach and dug through the discarded boxes of condoms in search of the one Sherlock had opted for – and knocked back to the floor in his haste to keep the flat from burning down around them. Warm and tingling it would be, at least for tonight. But soon, she resolved, eyes drifting over to the dresser where she'd left the remote-controlled toy that Sherlock seemed so very intrigued with, very soon…oh, the fun the two of them were going to have!

**Epilogue**

No one could quite explain it. Lestrade thought the years of keeping his emotions under lock and key had finally caught up with Sherlock and the recent beginnings of a relationship with Molly were overwhelming him. When John told Mary what he'd witnessed in the morgue, she figured Sherlock was just embarrassed to be around Molly after the kerfuffle that was their first sexual encounter. John had no desire to speculate on what was causing it at all and firmly insisted it was some new form of mind palace usage. All anybody knew was that when the team went down to the morgue to look at a body for a case, Molly Hooper would pull the body out, stand back with her hands tucked into the pockets of her lab coat, and when the usual proceedings of inspecting the body were over, she would smirk ever so slightly as Sherlock went completely still, his eyes glazed over as he stared into space for several long seconds.

It was on those days that neither of them were to be found in the evening, mobiles turned off and Baker Street locked and shuttered to any passersby. The only answer given to anyone the next day was that they had been busy with experiments.


End file.
